


Just Once

by LumosLyra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Plug, Arranged Marriage, BDSM, Consensual Non-Consent, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, F/F, F/M, Flogging, Fluff, Hand Feeding, Humiliation, Imperius Curse (Harry Potter), Infidelity, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Power Exchange, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22385734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra
Summary: Pansy hires a professional dominatrix for a night of submission, spanking, and sensations she is likely to never feel again after she follows through with her arranged marriage.  It's just once - a singular experience, she tells herself. But will "just once" be enough?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 84
Kudos: 275





	1. The Card

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome! This plot bunny came about after I got sucked into BONDiNG on Netflix and wouldn't leave my brain. Tags will be updated as we go. Prepare for fluff and a whole lot of smut in coming chapters. 
> 
> Beta Love to MsMerlin and Trish! Thanks for reading!

The card was a small, narrow rectangle with a single letter inscribed into the center in an elegant script and was written on some of the finest cardstock she had ever seen. The burnt orange ink bearing a single letter 'H' was seared into her retinas, no less her soul, for how long she had stared at it in wonder. It had come into her possession, along with an ironclad confidentiality spell, several forms to complete, and a tidy chunk of her inheritance, via Blaise Zabini, and old friend with a “try anything once” mentality. While he didn’t quite see  _ this _ person to have  _ his _ needs met, he knew another and probably several more who frequented the same circles. Apparently, it was all about who you knew and Blaise evidently knew the right people.

Well, the right people for her purposes. He certainly didn’t know who to call when one needed 120 embroidered linen napkins.

Pansy turned the small card over in her fingers, the crimson varnish adorning her nails in stark contrast against the pure white cardstock. Her appointment was in three minutes and here she was, standing in her favorite set of black silk robes with her favorite patent leather pumps, trying to convince herself to pick up the floo-powder and toss the card into the hearth. 

_ Just once. _ She told herself. She needed to do this just once before she was effectively trapped in an arranged marriage with a man who was certainly not going to turn her over his knee and make her arse match the color of her nails. Trapped wasn’t really the best word to use as she really did love the git, but no matter how much she loved him, she knew it simply wasn’t in the cards for Draco. They’d discussed it and he’d very firmly told her no along with his reasons for declining.

They were valid, certainly, and it wasn’t something she would ever hold against him. She wasn’t that type of person. In her youth, she may have been a bit petty and snippy but when you live through a war where people you know don’t come out on the other side alive, you’re forever altered. 

She wasn’t even certain if (when) she stepped through the floo that it would even be a man on the other side. It could very well be a woman. It wasn’t like she hadn’t harbored thoughts about other women—there were plenty of witches out there with shapely calves and long necks she’d like to sink her teeth into, but her fantasies had never gone further than a chaste peck on the lips with Daphne Greengrass on a dare from Tracey Davis during their fourth year. All of her other experiences with pleasure had either been thanks her own fingers or with the requisite parts belonging to a wizard. As a witch approaching thirty, she wasn’t horribly experienced but she had engaged in a fair bit of mischief with men to know what liked and didn’t like. 

The clock chimed. 

Shit. 

She was out of time. With her heart thudding in her chest, Pansy plucked a pinch of floo powder from the pot and tossed it into the hearth, turning the orange flames a brilliant green. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tossed the small card into the flames and stepped in after it only to glide out of a grate a moment later into an unfamiliar, brightly lit space. 

She wasn’t certain what she had expected but cream furniture and fresh flowers wasn’t it. Something a bit darker, maybe? The space was bright and airy with sunlight streaming in through the windows overlooking the river. She must have been in a highrise somewhere in London but then again, she lived in a world with magic and enchanted windows were a distinct possibility. A petite witch in pastel pink robes with bubblegum pink lips to match waved her over to the reception desk with an altogether too sugary smile. 

“May I have your name, miss?” the witch asked, waving her wand over a register upon the desk. The text was obscured—for the receptionist’s eyes only it seemed. That boded well for the confidentiality agreement she had signed. The last thing she needed was any wind of what she was about to do getting back to the papers.

“Parkinson—Pansy Parkinson.” 

The pretty witch’s smile widened, bubblegum pink lips stretching over perfect, white teeth, her eyes alight with awe. “Of course, Miss Parkinson. I should have recognized you at once.” She pointed a dainty finger towards herself, “Emmeline Fawley.” 

Pansy granted the witch a smile, though it was the smile reserved for garden parties, society luncheons, and other inane things her mother insisted she attend. The simpering twit probably read whatever Rita Skeeter deemed to write about her in the Prophet (ninety-two percent of it being complete and utter trash) and fancied her somewhat of a celebrity because her name graced the society columns as much as the next sacred twenty eight heiress. “A pleasure, Miss Fawley.” 

The petite witch rose gracefully from the chair on which she had been perched and motioned for Pansy to follow with a crook of her finger and a sway of her hips. “The consultation room is this way. I’ve been instructed to ask you to wait there for the moment.” 

She led Pansy to a non-descript door which opened into a small but comfortable space. A single cream-colored wingback faced a loveseat covered in the same upholstery while a low table sat between the two - a vase of fresh flowers sitting atop the maple woodgrain. While Pansy entered the small space, the receptionist lingered back in the doorway, one hand just brushing the frame. 

“Miss Granger will be with you shortly,” Miss Fawley said before she closed the door, leaving Pansy and her racing heart alone in the small, cream colored room. 

It was only the training all pureblooded girls of any standing were required to attend in their youth that kept her from clawing at her own throat. She was, well, not quite trapped in this tiny, beige room with it’s too-fresh flowers waiting to meet with someone to enact her darkest desires but it was the name that rolled off of the receptionist’s bubblegum pink lips that gave her cause for concern. 

_ Hermione Granger.  _

If she had expected anything at all from this encounter, it was that she would be meeting someone with whom she was not acquainted, not someone with whom she had attended school and had seen at least once per year for the last ten or so. She was as much of a celebrity as Pansy was and for a much better reason than being born into society. 

Hermione Granger regularly attended charity benefits, always on the arm of Potter, Weasley, or another piece of eye candy, using her status as a heroine of the war to draw others in, attending simply to get a glimpse of “The Woman who Orchestrated the Dark Lord’s Defeat” before spending galleons upon galleons on this cause or that. 

Like many others, Pansy’s mother fawned over the young muggleborn, if only to keep in her good graces but Pansy’s interactions with the witch were rather minimal. A quiet conversation about new curriculum at Hogwarts, a passing society-acceptable smile between glasses of champagne, a brief floo-call to confirm her presence at this year’s benefit for war orphans and widows. There had been a few meaningful conversations over the years, but their interactions had certainly kept to safe topics. 

_ Much _ safer topics. 

Her stomach was slowly tying itself in knots, her hands decided that being clammy was perfectly acceptable, and her heart was beating a thunderous tattoo against the walls of her chest. 

This had to be some sort of a joke. Perhaps Blaise was taking the mickey out of her in some curious, sadistic way—tricking her into submitting to Hermione Granger who was really someone in polyjuice. She didn’t think he would stoop that low but he had gone to elaborate lengths for a prank before.

No. This had to be real. She doubted even Blaise would set up something of this magnitude when he knew how important this was to her. When he knew how much she needed this. When… he  _ knew.  _

Moments ticked by, denoted only by the pounding of Pansy’s heart as she waited in the small space, every possible reason why she shouldn’t be here running through her mind—her fiance finding out she was even seeking out an arrangement like this, her name ending up in the Prophet and getting dressed down by her mother, no less her grandmother… she needed to leave. 

A moment later she was reaching for the door handle to leave when it began to turn. Pansy quickly drew a breath, perched herself on the sofa, and donned the most neutral expression she could manage. It was too late to escape and she held the words she held to berate Blaise on the tip of her tongue, no matter how far fetched that idea seemed now, Pansy knew absolutely anything was possible.

The woman who entered was nothing like the woman Pansy encountered at the once-a-year society functions. The one she saw at the charity benefits was mild-mannered and almost mousy with brown, semi-frizzy curls and dress robes that looked as if they were designed for someone else. She very much resembled the girl Pansy had known at Hogwarts—swotty, intelligent, always gunning for a cause. The one who entered wore a tailored navy-blue suit that could have easily been featured in the pages of Witch Weekly, sharp black-leather heels, a collared cream silk blouse open at the neck, and a delicate gold chain disappearing into her decolletage. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, the unruly curls tamed into submission at the back of her head. She carried a simple, black leather folder with just a hint of white parchment peeking out from it’s edges. 

She was radiant with confidence.

This was  _ real. _

“It’s lovely to see you again, Miss Parkinson,” Hermione said warmly, one hand outstretched with the black folder tucked against her body in the other. 

Pansy took her hand with a delicate yet firm grasp (just as her mother had instructed) and nodded, murmuring a quiet, “and you as well,” before they settled into their respective seats across from one another. 

While Hermione opened the black folder with the crisp white parchment stacked therein, Pansy took a moment to observe the witch. She was perched in the chair in an easy manner with one leg crossed over the other as though this were the most natural thing in the world to her.. Where was the girl she saw once a year? Was she lurking somewhere in this highly professional, ridiculously confident shell? In any case, Pansy was desperately interested - if only to attempt to solve the mystery of Hermione Granger. 

Hermione’s fingers held a muggle pen and she briefly scribbled something on the paper before turning her attention back to Pansy. “Would you like to tell me why you’re here, Miss Parkinson?” 

“I…” the words died on Pansy’s tongue. It was one thing, putting her desires down on paper in tidy checkboxes. It was entirely another speaking about them outloud. She could almost hear her mother’s voice echoing in her ears that well brought up young ladies simply didn’t speak about such things. She’d been fighting that stigma her entire life.

“I see,” Hermione scribbled another note on the paper before she lifted her warm, brown eyes to meet Pansy’s. “Everything you say in here is bound by the confidentiality spell and while I’ve read over your file, I would like you to tell me why you’ve sought out this… experience.” The final word rolled off of her tongue like a smooth, well aged scotch and Pansy was suddenly desperate for a drink. 

Pansy sat up a little straighter, refolding her hands and focusing her gaze on the crimson tips of her fingers rather that at the witch in front of her. “Just once… I need to see these,” the word was on the tip of her tongue, though she struggled to force it out, “fantasies of mine made real.” Her eyes lifted a fraction of an inch, just high enough that she could see the flourishes of Hermione’s pen as it flowed over the paper. 

Once she began, it was like ripping off a plaster and miraculously, the words flowed a bit easier. “I’m not certain what you know about pureblood culture, Miss Granger, but our marriages are often arranged with little chance at love. I’m fortunate in that my betrothed and I share love between us but I also know that he is unable to provide anything remotely resembling what I want… need.”

What she  _ needed _ . Since when had a want become a need? When had desire morphed into something much more powerful? When had her little private fantasies become something she craved outside of the sphere of her own imagination? 

Pansy shifted slightly on the sofa, the air around her grew warm, her core tightened, and her thighs clenched.

“You’re looking for a singular experience, then?” Hermione asked, lifting her eyes from the folder to meet Pansy’s once more. 

_ Just once. _ Hadn’t that been Pansy’s mantra all along as she worked to set up this encounter? “I believe so, yes.” 

With a nod and another warm smile that was meant to set Pansy at ease, though it managed to make her insides turn into a giant pile of flobberworm mucus instead, Hermione set the pen aside and closed the dossier, placing a single sheet of paper atop the black leather. “Thank you, Miss Parkinson.”

Hermione placed it into Pansy’s hands, her fingertips just brushing against the thin, pale skin covering her knuckles. “Based on the questionnaires you completed, I’ve curated this particular experience with your needs and interests in mind. While it does not go into detail as the scene is meant to be anticipatory and somewhat surprising, it does address the specific types of activities in which we may engage. Should it meet with your requirements, we can arrange a mutually agreeable date and time.” 

The business-like manner with which Hermione approached their transaction set Pansy at ease. She knew how to deal with those who offered services for money, be it a florist, a caterer, or apparently a dominatrix. There was a niggling thought at the back of her mind that if she scheduled a second encounter, would it also be this formal or would it be more spontaneous? She pushed the thought from her mind reminding herself that this was to be a singular experience… _ just once … _ and proceeded to review the tidy list written on the paper in a delicate script. 

It was a simple list of activities from the checklist she had completed, no additional information was provided. She felt her cheeks pink with the understanding that this could very soon be her reality as she read down the page. Words like “spanking” and “bondage” jumped out at her and made the pixies in her stomach flutter their wings with rapid precision, evidently churning whatever flobberworm mucus that was left from last brush with discomfiture to dust.

“It appears satisfactory,” Pansy affirmed allowing her socialite training to calm her nerves as she passed the sheet of paper back to Hermione. She was all but certain that if she hadn’t participated in such training when she was younger she would be a quivering mass on the floor at this very moment. “But I have a question.” 

Hermione seemed pleased with this. Her eyes took on a curious glint and her mouth quirked up in a bit of a mischievous smile, quite unlike the warm, business-woman smile she seemed to have perfected. This smile-almost-smirk was even worse than the other one which made Pansy thankful her black robes were thick and wouldn’t show any residual fluids that might be leaking from her core. “Good. One should never accept anything at face-value. Ask your question please, Miss Parkinson.” 

“Will it be you or someone else?” Pansy knew the words rushed from her lips and before she could stop herself, more tumbled out. “You see, I’ve… well, I’ve never been with a woman.”

Quick as a flash, Hermione took Pansy’s hand within her own as she leaned across the small table between them. Her thumb rubbed small circles just below the crest of Pansy’s knuckles making Pansy’s breath hitch in her throat. “Should you find yourself uncomfortable in my presence, Miss Parkinson, I can, of course, make other arrangements, but I’d like to ensure you are aware that my gender, at this point in time, is wholly irrelevant. Of course, if you are more comfortable submitting to a man, I can make arrangements.”

Pansy’s breathing quickened as the thumb ghosting across the back of her hand slipped up towards her wrist and with the fingers below, applied gentle pressure. She knew if she pulled back the witch across from her would release her wrist without another word, but Pansy didn’t want to pull back and she certainly didn’t want to be released. She was suddenly desperate to remain in this moment forever with her violet eyes locked on the warm brown orbs belonging to Hermione Granger. 

“ _ Pansy.”  _ The use of her first name made Pansy aware of just how long she had been staring. She knew the blush staining her cheeks was deep but it was the words Hermione spoke next that calmed her racing heart, subsequently increasing her desire.

“This experience is about embracing the very best, most secret, parts of yourself in a safe space with someone specifically trained to bring such things to fruition. It allows you to be feminine and weak without having to worry that someone will catch you in your moment of vulnerability because you were strong enough to relinquish that control into another’s hands.” Hermione’s thumb swirled over Pansy’s pulse point. “I can offer you a release unlike any you have had before. The question is—are you ready to submit?” 

The world could have been spinning entirely too fast or may have stopped spinning at all for Pansy was so caught up in Hermione’s words she would not have noticed either way. She was tethered to the world merely by the touch of Hermione’s fingers on her wrist, holding her in place, making her feel safe and validated in her desires. Her mind was coated in a thick fog and her thighs were pressed together to quell the ache within though her knickers were surely ruined by a simple touch and a few words from a witch Pansy didn’t know she so desperately  _ needed. _

The word tumbled over her tongue and escaped her crimson coated lips before she could stop it.

“Yes.” 

  
  
  
  



	2. A Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha and Beta love to: msmerlin, cecemarty, and KrzyDaffodil32.

Hermione stared at the clock with a kind of nervous jittery anticipation, her attention solely on the hand ticking away the seconds as it filled the otherwise quiet space. 

Three minutes. 

She could hardly focus on the actual work she had to do today, and the case she was meant to be preparing lay at the corner of her desk while a simple packet of pure-white parchment took pride of place. Her finger floated across the top, tracing each loop and curve of the one name she never expected to come across her desk. 

Especially not for the services she offered, and she didn’t mean pro-bono work for disenfranchised clients. No. Miss Parkinson could afford the best in a legal team should she need it. Yet there it was:  _ Pansy V. Parkinson _ , written in delicate script at the top of the set of forms Hermione had designed years ago when she’d taken on her first set of clients. Truth be told, one or two of them were still clients to this day including the pretty blonde witch currently standing in the corner of her office. 

A quiet knock sounded at the door and she quickly disillusioned the blonde witch with her skirt rucked up around her waist and tucked into snow-white knickers. The outline of a thick plug could just be seen through the thin fabric before the witch blended into the decor under the disillusionment spell. 

“Come in.” 

Hermione’s perky receptionist pushed open the door and managed to simper even more than she did on a daily basis. The thought of turning the young witch over her knee had crossed Hermione’s mind more than once, but it wouldn’t do to discipline her receptionist in such a manner, especially when she was none the wiser to Hermione’s particular proclivities nor to the fact that several of the clients she escorted to the consultation room or to Hermione’s office were, in fact, not there for legal counsel. 

“Miss Parkinson is waiting in the consultation room, Miss Granger.” 

With a curt nod, Hermione thanked her receptionist and rose from behind her desk as Miss Fawley began flouncing away. Before stepping out of the office Hermione pressed her body against the back of the witch standing disillusioned in the corner. Twisting the fingers of one hand through what she knew were thick, blond ringlets though she could not see them, Hermione yanked the woman’s head back while her other hand snaked around the woman’s front, the tips of her fingers hovering just above the woman’s slit. 

“You’ve done very well, my sweet girl,” Hermione cooed, her lips hovering just over the shell of the witch’s ear. She felt the witch shiver beneath her as she nipped at the woman’s earlobe. When she pressed her fingers against the woman’s clit through her knickers, the woman nearly keened. The hand gripping the woman’s curls slapped over her mouth to keep her moan contained. “You’re to stay in the corner until I return and finger your naughty cunt, Miss Abbott. If you come while I’m gone, you’ll get ten with the cane.” 

By the heat radiating off of her body and the soft, barely contained whimper, Hermione knew Hannah was flushed with embarrassment and desire which is exactly what she had been hoping for when she’d placed her former schoolmate in the corner. She gave the witch a quick pat on the bottom and murmured, “Be my good girl,” against her ear before retrieving the leather dossier from her desk and exiting her office, the door closing behind her with a  _ snick _ . 

Hermione crossed the reception area to the consultation room, inhaling a calming breath before turning the knob and pushing the door open to catch her first glimpse of Pansy Parkinson. Brown hair so dark it was nearly black brushed against the shoulders of a set of tailored, probably bespoke, black silk robes. A set of perfect calves peeked out from beneath the expensive fabric and ended in a pair of high dragon-leather heels. The only color anywhere on the witch, despite the slight pink color of her cheeks, was red nail varnish at the tips of her fingers and a matching shade on her lips. 

Hermione relished in the bit of pink coloring Pansy’s cheeks. She knew she had the upper hand and while she certainly wouldn’t force the witch’s attentions, she would lay out everything in her arsenal to get this beautiful creature across her knee. Before today, Pansy had been unreachable, unattainable, and utterly uninterested, despite the fairly blatant flirting Hermione attempted at their sporadic meetings at charity luncheons and benefit galas. The chance to pine over this incomparable witch was one of the reasons Hermione deigned to attend, despite the fact that she was lending her name and status to a variety of causes she held near and dear to her heart. 

Harry laughed at her for it. Arsehole. Well, he laughed for all of about five minutes until she began dragging him with her and he’d been able to pine over Theo whilst she pined over Pansy. Luckily for her bespectacled best friend, Theo happened to have a chosen one complex and the two were snogging before the night was out at the first benefit the three had attended together. 

Donning her most warm, winning smile - one specifically designed to put her clients (both legal and illicit) at ease, Hermione held out her hand, “It’s lovely to see you again, Miss Parkinson.”

………..

It was done. 

When the “yes” rolled off of Pansy’s tongue like a cool drink of water on a hot summer day, Hermione internally squealed, though it wouldn’t do to let her newest client see exactly how much she was truly affected. (Looking at you, Gryffindor bravado!) She was able to keep the majority of her encounters with her clients from encroaching into the “feelings” realm, though she held some manner of affection for all of them. But this witch was different and if she wasn’t exceptionally careful, she knew her heart could possibly be shattered into a million little pieces. 

As it stood, Pansy held the power, though she didn’t know it, and Hermione made certain to reassert herself before the witch stepped out of her consultation room—that Gryffindor bravado was good for something, at least. Releasing Pansy’s wrist and rising to her feet, Hermione stepped around the small table separating them. Pansy placed her hand in Hermione’s in a gesture to seal their agreement and rose to her feet. With a quick turn, Hermione pushed Pansy against the wall, pinning one arm above the witch’s head while her other hand settled at the witch’s waist. 

The dark-haired beauty’s crimson lips were parted, soft puffs of air escaping as her chest rose and fell with her quick breaths. The color on the apples of her cheeks darkened as the air around them grew warmer, her eyelashes fluttering over wide eyes where barely a trace of violet could be seen. Pansy’s body subtly writhed with each pass of Hermione’s hand as it trailed over the contour of her waist to just beneath the curve of her breast. 

_ Perfect _ . 

Dipping her head down, Hermione’s lips ghosted over the sensitive skin lining the column of Pansy’s throat. Tightening her fingers around the witch’s wrist and hip, Hermione’s tongue darted out to taste the sweet, floral scent clinging to Pansy’s pulse points, before nipping at the delicate alabaster skin, so in contrast to her own honeyed complexion, with her teeth. 

The smallest whimper escaped Pansy’s lips, and Hermione couldn’t help the pleased smile that rose to her own. 

If she only got this witch once, she was going to make her beg for it. 

With a quick step back, Hermione released the witch from her grasp and gathered her dossier, leaving a stunned and slightly rumpled Pansy against the nearby wall. Hermione made a point to open the door before she faced the witch again, her brown eyes staring pointedly into Pansy’s, her tone nothing but business. “Please schedule a case review with Miss Fawley before you leave, Miss Parkinson. I look forward to servicing your needs.”

Without another glance to the witch, Hermione crossed the short, bright space to her office and upon entering, tossed the black, leather folder onto her desk. Were it not for the small whimper of need coming from the corner, Hermione would have collapsed into her office chair and completely overanalyzed her interactions with Pansy. Unfortunately, she couldn’t afford to be distracted. It wasn’t fair to the lovely witch currently frigging herself silly in the corner. 

Centering herself with a deep breath, allowing the intake of air to clear her mind and cleanse her thoughts for the moment, she released the disillusionment spell on the witch. Shedding her jacket with a shrug of her shoulders, Hermione laid the garment over a nearby chair and turned her eyes to the blonde witch who was leaning against the wall for support as she shoved two fingers in and out of her slit at an enthusiastic pace, eyelids fluttering in that place just between open and closed where the world was a haze. 

“Did you come?” 

Green eyes snapped open, fingers never ceasing their movements, “N-no, Mistress. I-  _ oh fuck _ \- I didn’t. But, ple -” 

Hermione took in the woman’s flushed skin, the glistening wetness coating her thighs, and the rise and fall of her chest. “Hush, Hannah.” 

The witch ceased all movement, fingers still buried knuckle-deep in her cunt, looking every bit as wanton and wild as Hermione knew she would be after going this long without an orgasm. She looked like sin personified but it wasn’t enough, it wasn't  _ right _ . She was too tall, her hair was the wrong color—and curled for Morgana’s sake—and her skin, too tanned.   
  


“I didn’t say to stop, Miss Abbott.” Hermione approached the witch, slinking towards her like a cat to palm a breast beneath the witch’s blouse. The witch redoubled her efforts, her entire body shaking like a leaf with the effort it took to simultaneously keep herself upright and not orgasm. 

Slipping her fingers along the high of the witch’s cheek, Hermione’s fingers found purchase as they sunk into the thick, blonde curls and with a not-so-gentle tug, she pulled the witch forward and tilted her head so she could sink her teeth into her neck. The mark left behind was dark and purple when she pulled away. 

“Come.” 

Within moments, Hermione caught the writhing witch in her arms as the orgasm washed over her and Hermione gently ran her finger tips through Miss Andrew’s curls. “That’s it, sweet girl,” she cooed as the woman’s breathing slowly began to come back to normal. She cast a featherlight and levitation charm on the witch and guided her to the sofa that was settled against the back wall in her office. Time to take care of one witch before she could focus her thoughts on another. 

……….

The sight before her was one she had seen with a surprising frequency and while it had taken what seemed like ages to get used to seeing Theodore Nott’s cock buried in her best friend’s mouth, she was just happy they were happy. Tall, well-muscled, perfectly gorgeous Theo had her best friend grasped by the hair and was thrusting with a sense of urgency, his cock tucked between Harry’s lips as though it just belonged there, in the middle of the living area at Grimmauld Place. 

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the hearth as she watched the scene unfold. She could set her problems aside for the next five minutes to watch two handsome men go at it, voyeur that she was. Harry was on his knees with hollowed cheeks, one hand grasping Theo’s arse while the other pulled long strokes from the base to the tip of his own cock. The taller, well-muscled man with his trousers gathered around his knees had his head thrown back as her best friend locked his lips over the tip of Theo’s cock and sucked, hard. A feral growl escaped Theo’s mouth as he pushed past the suction, burying himself in Harry’s throat and finding his own release, spilling the hot, bitter liquid. Hermione watched as Harry’s adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, his own hand pumping furiously until thick spurts of come splattered across the rug. They looked spent and utterly sated. 

Hermione was still a few days away from seeing her own handsome, blonde bit of sex relief and after watching that scene, she knew she’d be going home and reacquainting herself with her shower head. 

Of course, they still hadn’t realized she was there as Theo pulled Harry to his feet and buried his tongue in the other man’s mouth, hips pressed together with their softening cocks nestled between them. 

Clap after slow, painfully awkward clap rang throughout the room as the two men broke apart, the afterglow of completion still radiant on their faces. “Lovely show, boys.” 

“Fuck, Granger. When did you get here?” Theo reached down to tug his trousers back up over his hips.

If he wasn’t completely bent, Hermione would’ve latched on to Theo in a heartbeat. She loved nearly everything about him, except for his annoying habit of folding down the pages of books to keep his place. He was tall with dark hair and eyes the color of the ocean after a storm, such a deep, pure blue that set her core to clenching. While Harry preferred to wear his hair longer so it curled around his ears, Theo’s was cropped close on the sides and styled on the top—she could only imagine how many products it took to make it look as good as it did. On top of that, the man who’d stolen her best friend’s heart was a genuinely good person.

Hermione pushed off of the mantle and crossed the space to plop down on the couch, casting her jacket aside on a nearby ottman before sinking down into the plush cushions. “About half a blow-job ago.” 

“You could’ve joined us, Granger,” Theo teased with a waggle of his eyebrows as he tucked his softening member back into his pants and buttoned his trousers. 

Hermione had to stop herself from staring as he tugged his shirt over his abdomen. Being a sexual person, Hermione appreciated all types of bodies—there was something beautiful to be found in all aspects of human sexuality and there was very little Hermione had not explored. She had her limits and preferences of course, and oogling a sexy man was definitely a preference but since he was married to her best friend, it was best not to linger for too long. 

“First of all, Harry is practically my brother, so… ew. And secondly, you two are about as straight as a boomerang.” 

“A boom-uh-what?” Despite Harry’s best efforts, Theo was still woefully inept at navigating and understanding the muggle word. 

“It’s a muggle thing. A bit of wood with a curved shape that returns to you when thrown a certain way.” Harry clarified, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt, all of his clothing set to rights over his shorter, thin frame. 

“Muggles throw wood, now? Well… I do come back for more… and often.” 

“We know.” 

Theo waved a hand dismissively and disappeared into the kitchen. 

“So, I have a problem.” Hermione interrupted, knowing that if she didn’t stop the pair of them they’d end up in a fit of giggles googling muggle contraptions all night long. It had happened before and could have easily happened again. But, no,  _ problem _ wasn’t quite the right word. “Well, not exactly a problem, more of a… situation.” 

Hermione shook out her curls, a pile of pins in her hand from where they had kept her chignon in place, so they fell over her shoulders.

Harry settled himself at the end of the couch and threaded his arm around Hermione’s shoulder, tugging her back against his chest. They sat like this more often than not when Hermione was over and Theo, thank Merlin, didn’t mind. “What’s going on? New case?”

“At which job?” Theo snorted as he sauntered back into the living area carrying a bottle of wine and levitating three glasses behind him. 

Hermione couldn’t help the smirk that rose to her lips as her fingers closed around the stem of one of the wine glasses, after Theo sent it floating into her grasp with a wave of his wand. “The fun one.” 

“That’s not helpful, Granger,” Theo shook his head slowly and uncorked the bottle of merlot, sloshing a bit into each of their glasses with an unpracticed hand. For a man who curated and produced various types of small-batch spirits for a living, he was certainly sloppy with the required pouring bit. “You enjoy both of your jobs too much for that to even be a hint.” 

Harry tightened his arm around her shoulder, fingers stroking along her arm, as she toed off her heels, leaving the black pumps askew on the floor and tucking her feet up under her. “I get enough of the legal team at work, so please tell me it’s the one where you tie people up for a living.” 

Hermione nearly snorted out her wine through her nose as she attempted to take a sip, “You guessed it,” she confirmed, reaching back with her free hand to pat Harry’s cheek, “Good boy.” 

Harry’s face instantly scrunched up as though he managed to taste a bit of pureed bat spleen during a potions lesson and flicked her hand away from his stubbled cheek, “Gross, Hermione. No thank you.” 

A wide grin spread across Theo’s face and he leaned forward towards the platonic couple, forearms resting on his knees, filled wine glass dangling precariously from his fingers. “I’d like to see him be your good boy.” 

“You’re not helping, Theodore.” 

“Oooh, the full first name. Somebody’s in trouble.” Hermione teased before sitting up from Harry’s embrace like a predator about to catch her prey, lips pursed just enough to get the heart racing, and the smallest hint of mischief in her brown eyes, which she leveled on Theo, “Perhaps I should turn you over my knee.” 

Theo, bless him, had the grace to blush as he slowly slid back into his chair and away from the predatory dominatrix and immediately deflected, “Let’s get back to your ‘situation’,” complete with air quotes. 

A laugh bubbled up from her throat as she sunk back against Harry once more, pulling his arm to rest around her shoulders. “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, Theo,” she said, motioning towards him with her glass of wine before taking another sip. “But yes, I have a bit of a situation. I have a new client.” 

“I know better than to ask who,” Harry remarked, holding out his glass to Theo for a refill. 

In the early days of graduate school, when Hermione first started taking a rather different sort of client than she typically saw during her legal internship, Hermione finally had to start jinxing her best friend when he stupidly asked who her clients were. As if she would enter into any sort of sexual arrangement with someone for money without an ironclad confidentiality agreement? 

“What’s wrong with this client” 

“Nothing,” Hermione groaned, free hand flying into her curls and feeling her tongue seize when she tried to use a gendered pronoun. She chose her words carefully. “... this client is  _ perfect.”  _

They’d had several conversations about different witches and wizards throughout the years and there was only one she’d ever described in such a way. Harry’s reaction was visceral—his chest filled with air, a bolt shot down his spine, and his head tilted to look at his best friend, an incredulous smile sliding across his lips. “It’s not.” 

“The spell won’t let me confirm or deny,” Hermione replied automatically, but she couldn’t help her own grin and the spell seemed incapable of altering her facial expression. 

“Holy shit, it really is.” 

“So, uh… do you two mind-readers,” Theo motioned emphatically between the pair on the sofa,    
“want to clue a very lost wizard into what the hell you are talking about?” 

Harry looked to his husband while Hermione sipped her wine, “Hermione’s dream witch just agreed to submit to her today. The one she’s been pining over for years.” 

“Parkinson?” Theo’s head tilted to the side as he swirled the red liquid around the rim of the glass.

“Again. Cannot confirm or deny.” 

“It’s gotta be Parkinson. She’s been arse-over-tits for that witch for years.” 

Hermione snorted.

Harry nodded, dropping a playful kiss to Hermione’s temple, “Yes. The very reason I get dragged to charity event after charity event—so she can get a glimpse of her witch.” 

“To be fair, you met Theo because I dragged you to one of those charity events,” she gently reminded him and while she was thoroughly irritated when he abandoned her to talk to his now husband that first night, she couldn’t imagine him with anyone else. 

“Fuck, Granger. That’s tough. What are you going to do?”

Hermione glared at Theo, a jinx on the tip of her tongue. If she had to tell him she couldn’t confirm or deny his suspicions one more time, she was going to cast it. 

“Hypothetically, of course…” he added quickly.

“Hypothetically - “

“Yes.”

“Get my fucking heart broken.” 


	3. The Zinnias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha and beta love to: msmerlin, cecemarty, and krzydaffodil32!

Pansy didn’t know what to expect. 

Well, she _did_ know what to expect, she’d reviewed the list over and over in her mind countless times before today. Since her meeting with Hermione a week prior, she’d felt like a bundle of nervous energy—like a hex held on the tip of the tongue just waiting to be cast. She might as well be a _reducto_ for all she felt like she could shatter her surroundings at any moment. 

She’d taken a long, hot bubble bath, drank Merlin only knew how many Coke Lites, fled to the salon for a day of beauty, and even attempted to ride Draco’s broom around the courtyard thinking that the feel of the wind in her hair might settle her down, but it only seemed to wind her up more as her clit pressed against the woodgrain of the handle. No matter how many times she’d orgasmed by her own hand, or from her fiance's attentions, it hadn’t been enough. 

Something was missing. _Someone._

Which is why she forced all of her nervous energy into a tightly contained ball in the pit of her stomach and walked through the floo for her _appointment._

Miss Fawley was dressed all in lavender today, from the jaunty fascinator perched on the crown of her head down to her dainty heels. The witch positively beamed when Pansy siphoned off any soot from her robes with her wand before tucking the delicate bit of wood away in her handbag. 

“Miss Parkinson!” Miss Fawley rose from the chair behind the desk and lifted a small envelope from the surface with her thumb and forefinger, long lavender nails brushing across the script which spelled out Pansy’s name. 

“Good day, Miss Fawley.” 

The purple-bedecked witch managed to bustle her way around the desk—her entire body swaying with all of the grace of a newborn colt and Pansy’s eyes widened imperceptibly as she watched the flustered witch. A slip of her eyes to the side revealed a copy of _Witch Weekly_ turned open to an article about spring fashions and Pansy spotted herself wearing a set of aubergine dress robes from a gala the month before given pride of place with loopy text surrounding the photograph of her sipping a glass of champagne while speaking to a matched set of ancient wizards. 

Ironically, they’d been discussing the application of common herbs in potions—nothing even remotely related to the dress robes the article was gushing over. She much preferred the academic discussion to the gushing. 

The envelope was unceremoniously thrust forward by the tittering witch who was bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Miss Granger requested you wait in room CR1 while she finishes up at the Wizengamot and bid me give you this letter.” The words rushed out of the witch’s mouth like a wave, ebbing and flowing with a vigorous rate and pitch, seeming to climb faster and higher with each word. 

Pansy needed another Coke Lite if she were to be forced to deal with this woman for one more second, or possibly one of Draco’s cigarettes, never mind that she abhorred the smell. It was nearly impossible for Pansy to hide her annoyance at having to wait but she took the letter nonetheless and followed Miss Fawley to the requisite room. 

Crossing the threshold, she nodded politely to Miss Fawley before closing the door behind her, unable to stomach the woman for a moment longer. The room she had been sent to was a normal conference room. A row of windows overlooked the city while large-leafed plants basked in the sun in terracotta pots and a table, topped with fresh flowers and surrounded by several chairs that sat in the center of the room.

This room looked _nothing_ like what Pansy anticipated. She had expected a bed—or a sofa at the very least! There was absolutely nothing about this room that suggested it was used for nefarious purposes such as driving young witches to orgasm or spanking their bottoms until they begged for who knows what. It was as mundane and minimalist as it could be, and Pansy found herself confused. 

She pulled out a chair with an irritated huff and tossed the letter onto the wooden table, the paper whispering as it slid across the surface. Sinking into the leather seat, she set her handbag in the neighboring chair and stared at the unopened letter before reaching out with crimson-tipped fingers and grasping the bit of paper to tear it open, one finger sliding under the seam. 

The paper inside flitted about before it fluttered itself free of the envelope and unfolded before her wide, violet eyes. Hermione’s voice filled the small space, surrounding Pansy in honeyed tones, reminding her exactly why she was here.. 

_You will kneel in the center of the room with your hands resting in your lap and you will focus your gaze on the floor. The amount of skin you choose to bare is your decision. When you are ready to begin, please take your wand and silence the zinnias._

The bright grouping of flowers in the center of the conference table was simultaneously the most amazing and terrifying thing in the room. 

This was it. 

Confusion morphed into anticipation as the letter disintegrated before Pansy’s eyes. She withdrew her wand from her handbag, her grip molding against the wood with a comforting familiarity and all of the feelings she had tried to compress into a tight ball in her stomach suddenly bubbled up into her throat, constricting her breath to a pant and sending a shiver dancing across her alabaster skin. 

_“Silencio,”_ she whispered, wand trained on the innocuous bunch of flowers. 

The room transformed in an instant. Gone were the large-leafed plants lining the windows, the conference table with leather chairs, save for the one she was sitting it; even the windows had darkened to a swirl of thunderheads, intermittent flashes of lightning illuminating the now-darker space. A large wall contained floor to ceiling shelves in a rich cherry with implements Pansy didn’t even know the name of resting in a precise order. A spacious bed with a pristine white duvet was centered in the room while a cozy sofa sat beneath the ominous windows. 

Where the zinnias had been, in the exact center of the room, rested a single gray damask pillow. It’s position was not an accident and Pansy stared from the leather office chair as it slowly morphed into a tufted wingback in a deep gray, contemplating exactly what was to happen. Her knees would be required to rest on that pillow in however many layers of clothing she decided were appropriate. 

How many were expected? 

Pushing herself up from the chair, Pansy noted a small sideboard with an ebony box engraved with silver filigree. She tucked her wand back into her handbag before placing it carefully in the box. Her cadet blue day-robes followed as did her silk stockings, garter belt, and french heels, leaving Pansy in only a priceless set of lingerie made from black hand-tatted lace.

With each step, her heart threatened to erupt, shattering the stormy windows at the back of the space with the force of her emotions, and with a final, calming breath, Pansy sunk low on the pillow on the floor, arranging herself just so. Manicured hands were folded demurely across her alabaster thighs, while a curtain of dark brown hair hid her face as she focused her gaze on the floor. 

She tried not to jump at each flash of lightning but found it nearly impossible to do so. 

The minutes ticked by as Pansy held her form, violet eyes trained on a single spot on the floor though they threatened to pop up with the sound of a door opening. She heard the rustle of clothing, the click of heels on the floor, and a muttered curse before the thunderstorms and lightning strikes playing over the enchanted windows morphed into something much brighter, flooding the room with soft light. 

“I apologize for that. That particular spell doesn’t always play nice with the others.” Hermione said, tucking her wand back into it’s holster as she gazed out of the window to see a beautiful meadow on a spring day. 

Crossing the space in a few short strides, Hermione settled herself in the wingback and took a moment to admire the witch on the ground who was every bit as exquisite as Hermione had imagined. The scraps of black lace left little to the imagination as they clung to the curve of her hips, darkening at the apex of her thighs, and cradling the mounds of her breasts within two, small cups. Her skin bore a slight sheen of sweat from the unpractised exertion of simply holding herself still while remaining on her knees. 

“Look at me, lovely.”

As Pansy lifted her eyes, she was more than a little surprised to find that Hermione was not dressed in leather, corsets, or fishnet stockings like she’d seen in some muggle magazines she’d nicked from Blaise’s flat, but in a tailored suit. A crisp, white shirt opened at the neck by a zipper was tucked into a pair of vibrant, blue pencil pants and a tailored jacket of the same material covered her shoulders and arms while on her feet were a pair of high, strappy heels in a burnished silver. 

“Good girl.” Pansy flushed while Hermione continued, apparently unperturbed by the witch’s reaction. “Are you familiar with the concept of a safeword?” 

She nodded her head.

Hermione uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in her chair, reaching out with one hand to tuck a lock of hair behind Pansy’s ear. “Lesson number one. You will speak when spoken to. You may try again.”

The tips of Hermione’s fingers trailed over the line of Pansy’s jaw, ghosting across the skin and the ripple of want that coursed through her body nearly rendered her speechless once more. “Y-yes.”

“Good,” Hermione praised, a smile playing on her lips that Pansy couldn’t for the life of her decipher, seeming to skirt the borders pleasure and desperation. 

“I prefer a simple color system. ‘Red’ and everything will cease immediately and without question. ‘Yellow’, if something doesn’t feel right and we need to pause, and ‘green’ if everything is going as expected and you wish to continue.”

The pad of Hermione’s thumb brushed across Pansy’s plump lower lip only to trail down along her jaw to grasp her chin between thumb and forefingers. “It is _imperative_ that I trust you to use these words as necessary. If I ask you for your color, I expect complete and utter honesty.”

Hermione leaned forward in her chair, fingers gripping Pansy’s chin tightly between them, forcing the witch’s violet eyes to look into her own set of honeyed brown as she positioned her face mere centimeters from Pansy’s. 

“Can I trust you, Pansy?” 

Her pulse was fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird, flitting from flower to flower seeking out the sweet, nourishing nectar within, and just like that hummingbird Pansy needed to slake her thirst. It didn’t matter that the room felt stifling hot or that her thighs were burning, she was consumed by the woman before her—a moth to the flame and she silently prayed to whatever ancient wizard or god would listen for a taste of that all consuming fire. 

“Yes.”

Pansy’s breath was stolen from her lungs when Hermione pressed her lips to hers, the fingers grasping her chin sliding back along the line of her jaw to thread into her hair. Those same fingers tightened their grip as Hermione nipped at Pansy’s lower lip with sharp teeth, drawing blood to the surface, but not breaking the skin, and pulling a whimper from Pansy’s throat. 

Grasping Pansy’s hair tightly in her fist, she separated them with a sharp tug to the witch’s scalp, luxuriating for the briefest moment in the sight of other woman’s rosy cheeks, wide eyes, and swollen lips. Hermione wanted to see her like this day in and day out and she forced herself to ignore the pang of impending loss in her stomach, her expression level and her eyes bright and in control. 

Keeping Pansy’s hair firmly twisted around her fingers, Hermione rose from the chair, pulling Pansy up onto a tall knee, bringing a grimace to Pansy’s face at the tight, ripping sensation. “Follow.”

Pansy made to stand, but the hand in her hair forced her to stay down. “Hands and knees, lovely. I did not give you permission to walk.” 

Pansy nearly balked at the command. No one in their life had ever asked her to crawl on the ground before—not even to retrieve a lost earring under the sofa! She stared at Hermione with wide eyes and parted lips, a protest poised on her tongue. 

Pansy’s head was tilted upwards as Hermione leaned over, her face so close that Pansy could make out the tiny freckles crossing the bridge of her nose.

“My, my, my,” Hermione shook her head, curls rustling with each movement, “Does your behavior need to be corrected so soon, Miss Parkinson? We’ve only just begun, afterall.”

Hermione’s index finger traced the curve of Pansy’s brow, drifted over her cheekbone, swirled around her lips, and eventually drew down her neck in a long, slow stroke, the tenderness of the motion in direct contrast with the controlled tone of her voice. “And here I thought you were going to be my good girl.”

Pansy never realized exactly how much she needed someone’s approval until that exact moment. She made to move, to place her hands on the ground as she had been ordered to do so, but Hermione’s grip held her in place. “I-I’m sorry.” 

The corner of Hermione’s mouth lifted in a small smirk, her eyes delighted with Pansy’s response as she loosened her grip on Pansy’s hair, slightly. “As you should be. Now, are you going to be my good girl or do we need to warm up that pert little arse of yours with a few smacks of the paddle?” 

If the room was scorching before, it had just become an inferno. She wasn’t keen to admit to Hermione Granger that she wanted to be not only a good girl, but _her_ good girl—finding the mere thought of uttering those words terrifying as she fought between her desire to submit and her desire to remain in control. 

Hermione remained patient while Pansy struggled with exactly what to say, holding the witch in place, her posture and gaze demanding a response all the while knowing that if Pansy didn’t make a decision, she would make it for her and the witch would likely not enjoy it as much had she come to her own conclusions. 

Pansy’s eyes closed and she swallowed, her tongue caressing each of the words in defeat as they slipped from between her lips, “your good girl.” 

“Yes you are, lovely. That is exactly who you are going to be.” Hermione released Pansy’s hair from within her grasp, the dark brown strands drawing a curtain around her ears to brush against her shoulders. 

“Follow.” Hermione turned, knowing that Pansy would do as she was told, and took several slow strides towards the set of shelves against the far wall. 

Pansy didn’t disappoint, falling to her hands and knees and crawling after Hermione, her body flushed with an exhilarating combination of shame and desire. She could feel her core clench with each stride of her limbs, the damp gusset of her knickers rubbing against her folds until she was once again kneeling by Hermione’s side as the witch surveyed the shelves.

Hermione knew exactly which items she was intending to pick, but pretending to peruse gave Pansy a moment to recuperate from not only admitting her desires but to accept that she could submit—even if she found it difficult to do so in the moment when given a task that was less than preferred. As Hermione pretended to look for what she wanted, she carded her fingers through Pansy’s hair, the gentle pressure pulling Pansy to rest her head against her leg. Hermione stood there for a moment, relishing in the feeling of having _this_ witch kneeling at her feet, and allowing her to take the lead with a heady amount of unconditional trust. 

She forced herself to step away from the intimacy of the moment, reminding herself that Pansy was very firm about this being a singular experience and that the witch at her feet wasn’t _hers_ for any substantial length of time. Pansy was only hers until the scene ended at which time she would return to her life, only seeing Hermione at charity events where they would likely pretend like this afternoon between them never happened. 

The gentle feeling of nails stroking through her hair and over her scalp forced Pansy to relax, some of the tension from earlier leaving her body She could almost imagine she was with a lover—not a woman whose services she was paying for, and she felt a slight pang of loss when Hermione stepped away. She watched as the witch shed her jacket, hanging it carefully on a nearby hook before pulling a length of rope and a flogger from the shelves. 

“Look at me,” Hermione demanded in an even, gentle tone when she noticed the witch’s posture stiffened and her wide eyes were on the items in her hand.

When their eyes met, Pansy inhaled a sharp breath through parted lips, surprised at the level of desire contained in those honeyed-brown orbs. And for some reason unbeknownst to Pansy, the desire held within Hermione’s eyes only served to increase Pansy’s arousal. It was if she wanted this woman, this witch, this dominatrix, to want her—to be something more to her than what she was paying her to be. 

Hermione offered Pansy a hand to help her off of the floor. “Go lie on the bed on your back, lovely. You may walk.” 

Her legs felt shaky from being on her knees and she stumbled as she made her way over to the bed but Hermione was right there to catch her, unwilling to let her fall until she lowered herself onto the bed. Using her arms as leverage, Pansy moved towards the middle and stretched out laying back across the soft duvet. 

“Perfect,” Hermione said, placing her chosen implements down on the bed before running her hands over Pansy’s calves, thumbs pressing feeling back into her tingling extremities and Pansy’s eyes fluttered closed as she relaxed under Hemione’s touch. 

Hermione’s hands crept up Pansy’s legs, skated across her kneecaps, and slipped over her thighs until her fingertips just brushed against the black lace, dark with arousal. Drawing her hands down the inside of Pansy’s thighs, she parted her legs, the damp gusset of her knickers on full display as it just hid her pink folds from view Hermione leaned forward, thumbs slipping under the black lace and looping around to tug the garment down Pansy’s legs, revealing her neatly trimmed cunt.

Hermione controlled her intake of breath and as she unwrapped Pansy like a gift, discarding the black lace knickers on the floor and slipping her thumb and forefinger over the front clasp of Pansy’s bra before popping it open to reveal Pansy’s pert breasts and pebbled nipples. Resting on her forearm, Hermione drew a finger between Pansy’s breasts and down to her navel as she took one of Pansy’s nipples between her teeth, swirling her tongue over the tip. 

Hermione’s grip on her hip was the only thing that kept Pansy tethered to the bed, having nearly sprung off of the bed when Hermione’s mouth made contact with her nipple, sending a ripple of pleasure roaring down her spine and sounding in her core. She could feel the slick gathering at her entrance and she eagerly pushed her hips towards Hermione’s hand when it cupped her sex. 

Hermione pulled off Pansy's nipple with a pop, pleased with the witch’s reaction. “No, no, lovely.” she said, pressing her middle finger between Pansy’s folds, just enough to brush against her clit but not enough to provide any sort of relief to quell the ache of her arousal. “This pretty little cunt is mine to do with as I please.”

The air around her seemed to thicken with each word Hermione uttered, driving Pansy into a place in her mind where she was simultaneously aching for control and desperate to just _feel_ , to just _be._ She’d never been allowed to just _be_ in her entire life. It was always a constant string of deportment lessons, magical training, garden parties, cotillions, lessons with the dancing masters, trips to the salon, and more when she wasn’t in school. Here, with Hermione, she could release all of her obligations, worries, and frustrations into someone else’s hands for a few hours and simply exist. 

Coupled with the feeling of Hermione’s finger slipping between her folds, teasing her entrance, and the shockwave the word ‘cunt’ sent through her core, she felt her body flush and still. 

“Good girl.”

The loss of Hermione’s finger made her whimper as it drug through her folds, stroking upwards along her clit before trailing upwards through the trimmed curls at the apex of her thighs until it finally tapped her mouth, seeking entrance.   
  
  


Ruby red lips parted and the taste of herself filled Pansy’s mouth. “That’s it, love. Once I bind you to this bed, I’m going to bury my face in your cunt and make you scream my name,” Hermione teased.

Gods help her, Pansy moaned. 

Her mouth constricted around Hermione’s finger, sucking all of her slick from Hermione’s finger before Hermione withdrew it with a pop to gather the length of rope she’d set on the bed. She tugged at Pansy’s arms, lifting them above her head to rest on the duvet. With a wave of her hand and a whispered spell, the length of rope coiled around Pansy’s wrists and secured itself to a hook beneath the bed, trapping her arms above her head.

“Colour?” Hermione asked, checking the tension of the rope with her practised fingers. 

“Green.” 

Pansy found herself being lifted and rotated by another whispered spell until she was deposited with her elbows digging into the comforter and her arse on full display. Her legs were splayed just enough she could feel her folds parting, bearing her quim to Hermione’s view while soft lengths of rope wrapped around her ankles, ensuring she remained open for Hermione’s pleasure.

“If it begins to feel too tight or you start losing feeling in your hands or feet, I need to know immediately. Do you understand?” 

“Yes.” 

A sharp crack landed on her arse and she yelped at the surprising impact before a pleasant heat bloomed outward. Fingers stroked across the pale pink welt with reverence, brushing across her folds with a featherlight touch before another sharp crack was heard throughout the room as Hermione’s hand made contact with Pansy’s arse. 

“Beautiful.” 

Tendrils of leather fell against her folds and the furrow of her arse, dragging over the heated skin. “I’m going to warm you up with the flogger, lovely. Be my good girl and hold still.” 

Hermione began slowly, sending gentle strokes of the leather across the curve of her backside, the contact of each leather strip drawing the smallest sting from Pansy’s skin. She took care to ensure steady, even strokes as she slowly increased the intensity and Hermione found herself mesmerized by the sunset of colors rising on Pansy’s arse, ranging from a soft pink to a deeper crimson. 

When a strip of the flogger whispered across her clit, Pansy pushed her hips back, forgetting the mandate to be still, aching for more contact as each caress of the flogger pulled her closer to her inevitable release. 

The sweet, little stings were replaced with a hand to the back of her thigh, sending a sharp jolt through her body until it escaped from her mouth in a growl. 

“Needy little witch, aren’t you, Miss Parkinson?” Hermione teased as she rested the handle of the flogger just at the top of the crack of Pansy’s arse, letting the little leather tendrils fall over her slick cunt, before sending another blow to Pansy’s thigh with her hand. 

“Please!” Pansy wasn’t even sure what she was begging for as her legs quivered and her thigh smarted from the impact, impossible heat blooming and causing her core to clench and seek any sort of pressure to relieve the ache contained therein. 

Hermione ignored her plea—or perhaps she fulfilled it, when she began alternating blows with her hand over Pansy’s arse from a soft, barely there tap to a full strike. The pretty blush adorning the witch’s backside deepened and with each blow, the flogger shifted and the thin, leather strips brushed through her folds and tapped against her clit, sending Pansy higher and higher until she was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and pleading a string of obscenities and beautiful whimpers. 

When the blows ceased and the pads of Hermione’s fingers caressed the raised, pink welts, Pansy found herself coming back to coherence with wet eyes and an even wetter cunt. Her pussy throbbed, reddened and slick. On the breath of a calming exhale, Pansy whispered a final, “please, let me come” as Hermione’s hand cupped her quim, palm pressing against her entrance. 

“In time, lovely. You’ve done so well.” Hermione cooed, dipping two fingers between Pansy’s slick folds and sliding them in and out with an embarrassingly wet squelch. 

“You’ve been my perfect, perfect girl.” Hermione’s fingers curled within Pansy’s cunt, pressing against that hidden spot that made her see stars. “Do you like being mine, Pansy?”

Pansy whimpered as Hermione’s fingers withdrew, lingering at the entrance of her sex. Heat bloomed through her body, flushing her sweat-slicked skin a pretty pink to rival the marks on her backside.

“Yes.” 

Hermione’s fingers pushed forward once more, jolting against the spongy tissue within while her thumb found Pansy’s clit, rubbing in gentle circles around the taut bundle of nerves, but not touching it directly. “Yes, what?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” The words flowed from Pansy’s lips without an ounce of hesitation, surprising both the witch who uttered them and the witch desperate to hear them. 

“Good girl.” Hermione redoubled her efforts, thumb pressing against Pansy’s clit while she fucked her with fingers, basking in the sights and sounds of the witch writhing and moaning beneath her touch. 

“Tell me what you want, lovely.” 

Pansy fought through the haze to find her words, any embarrassment and hesitation replaced by the overwhelming need to come undone. 

“I want to come, Mistress.” The words escaped her throat in a breathy moan, muffled somewhat by the bedding, but even if Hermione couldn’t make out the words, Pansy’s tone was filled with desperation and the muffled sounds would have been enough to make her point. 

A smile played on Hermone’s lips as she bent to press a kiss to one of the fading welts on Pansy’s arse, swiping her tongue against the sensitive flesh while her fingers rocked within Pansy’s sex, drawing forth obscene sounds from both the witch’s cunt and mouth.   
  
“Come.” 

The command, coupled with a few more strokes, sent Pansy over the edge, her core tightening around Hermione’s fingers, locking them in place as Hermione drew out Pansy’s orgasm with gentle whispers of her thumb over Pansy’s clit. 

Fireworks bloomed behind Pansy’s eyes as she fought for breath and consciousness, wave after wave radiating out from her core and washing down her arms and legs, simultaneously numbing and heightening every sensation. A litany of obscenities, names, and sounds of pleasure fell from her lips as each wave crested and fell. 

With a flick of her wrist, the bindings securing Pansy to the bed released and Hermione quickly shifted the nearly comatose witch on to her back, stretching her legs out and massaging her calf muscles and thighs with languid strokes before straddling her torso to do the same to her arms. 

She covered Pansy’s body with her own and brushed the sweat-slicked hair from the witch's face, pressing reverent kiss across the high of her cheekbones until she reached her lips. Hermione couldn’t stop herself from the needy kisses she pulled from Pansy’s mouth, bidding her open with a swipe of her tongue, desperate to taste the witch below her. She couldn’t have been more pleased with Pansy’s responsiveness, perfect didn’t even begin to describe her, she was transcendent. 

Hermione withdrew her mouth from Pansy’s and muttered a refrain of praises against the warm skin of her neck as she drew her tongue down Pansy’s collarbone, her fingers spreading wide over Pansy’s abdomen before moving down to slip once more between Pany’s swollen folds. 

Pansy whimpered, oversensitive and exhausted, barely able to move as she lay prone on the bed, unable to protest even if she wanted to save for the wiggle of her hips and the mewls escaping her throat. 

Hermione’s tongue swirled around one of the pebbled peaks atop Pansy’s breast, fingers pushing through the nectar gathered at the entrance to her center, stroking her inner walls and drawing her closer to coming undone for a second time. 

Her hands threaded into her dark locks as Pansy shook her head, a string of “no, no, no…” weakly falling from her lips. 

“I know you can give me another one, lovely,” Hermione crooned, watching Pansy’s face carefully for signs of distress as she laved at her breast with her tongue. Hermione promised to make Pansy scream her name and she intended to do just that, trailing a path of kisses across her ribs as the pads of her fingers found Pansy’s nipples, pinching and tugging the sensitive peaks.

Pansy shook her head again, “please…” 

Hermione pressed her lips just above Pansy’s navel, the fingers within the witch’s cunt pulling slowly against the tight, swollen walls, beckoning the next wave forward, ready to crash at any moment. 

“Colour?” she asked, a rush of concern flooding her belly. 

Pansy didn’t hesitate, “Green.” 

She pushed away the concern with a knowing grin and Hermione continued her descent, her prize coming ever closer as she breathed in the intoxicating scent of Pansy’s arousal before dipping her tongue into the slick gathered at her core, fingers withdrawing to spread her folds. Her taste was like ambrosia—heady, sweet, salty, and bitter and Hermione’s tastebuds alighted with the first brush of her tongue against Pansy’s quim. 

She anchored Pansy’s thighs to the bed with her forearms, a loud cry reverberating off of the walls as Hermione’s lips found Pansy’s clit and she sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves into her mouth before drawing her tongue down through Pansy’s folds to dive into her core. 

Pansy’d had enough of gentle. 

Hermione was relentless. 

A hand splayed over Pansy’s abdomen, anchoring her as she thrashed, the grunts, growls, and whines pouring from her lips growing louder as Hermione’s lips, tongue, and fingers kissed, licked, and fucked her into oblivion. 

Pansy screamed as the orgasm ripped through her, Hermione’s name falling from her lips, just as promised. 

It could have been mere minutes or hours later when she floated back into reality, but Pansy was wrapped in a fluffy robe and was resting against something soft and feminine, delicate hands drawing a warm cloth over her forehead, wiping the sweat and tears from her skin. Fingers carded through her hair and she snuggled closer, burrowing her face into the neck of the woman who was holding her as though she were the most precious thing in the world. 

She felt the woman smile against her hair as she turned and pressed a kiss to Pansy’s crown, nails digging lightly into her scalp while the arm wrapped around her back pulled her closer. “Welcome back, lovely. How are you feeling?” 

“Tired,” Pansy mumbled against Hermione’s neck, allowing herself to be comforted by the gentle touches and light, floral perfume that clung to her skin. She needed this as much as she needed everything that had come before. 

“To be expected. Sit up just a bit and take a sip,” Hermione commanded in a gentle voice, tipping a bottle of water towards Pansy’s lips once she complied. 

With gentle strokes along her back, Hermione eased Pansy back down into her arms and tilted her head to rest against the back of the sofa, allowing herself this one moment of respite - this singular moment to feel exactly what life could have been. 

Hermione plucked a strawberry from a nearby plate and poised it at Pansy’s lips, watching with reverence as those crimson lips, parted and accepted the treat. 

An overwhelming sense of melancholy began to cloud Pansy’s. The silence was too comfortable. Her body felt too at ease. The witch she was resting against smelled too perfect. Even the innocuous bits of fruit were perfectly ripe. It reminded Pansy of a dream, something that surely couldn’t be real. 

The sweet taste of the fruit turned to ash in her mouth and everything simultaneously felt too right and too wrong. She’d placed herself into the devil’s hands and had been sorely tempted. The experience of it all was overwhelming. 

The thought of going back to a perfectly vanilla lifestyle was enough to drive her to the brink of insanity. 

She couldn’t. 

Hermione sensed the shift as it happened and held Pansy close, fingers drawing along the ridges of her spine all the while feeling salty tears slide down her skin to dampen her blouse. “Shh, it’s alright, my darling girl. I’ve got you.” She crooned sweet words against the witch’s ear, reminding her she was cared for - precious even… perfect. 

This had been a mistake. 

Pansy sobbed harder.

Just once was never going to be enough. 


	4. Cheese Toasties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love for this chapter to cecemarty.

The green fire of the floo roared to life and out stepped Hermione, slightly more disheveled than she typically would be from a session with a client, but she couldn’t deny her connection with Pansy and that, in and of itself, made her put more of herself into their scene than she normally would. She was right when she told Harry and Theo she would get her heart broken, seeing Pansy break down at the end, though Hermione only suspected it was due to the adrenaline wearing off, made her want to wrap the witch in fluffy clouds and keep her safe until the world ended. 

She knew it was probably a mistake when she’d agreed to dominate the witch, but when life presents you with your favorite dessert on a platter with a sign that says “eat me” - you don’t hesitate. 

She siphoned the soot from her clothing and abandoned her briefcase and jacket on the wingback next to the hearth, when the sound of music coming from the kitchen caught her attention. She sat down to remove her strappy heels, discarding them haphazardly on the floor, seemingly unconcerned by the lyrical notes of soft jazz wafting through the air. When she paused in the doorway, a smile played on her lips as she watched the tall, blond man swaying to the music, a spatula in his hand and the smell of cheese toasties wafting through the air. 

“I hope you’re making one for me too.” 

Draco turned at the sound of her voice wearing a broad smile, his perfect white teeth on display. He wasn’t usually at her flat when she arrived home from either of her jobs, but it wasn’t an unwelcome sight. 

“I wasn’t sure when you’d be home and I got hungry. You can have this one and I’ll make another.” 

Hermione waved her hand dismissively and padded into the kitchen to slip her arms around his waist, letting the scent of his cologne fill her senses as he pulled her against his chest and dropped a kiss to the top of her curls, spatula held carefully away in his other hand. 

Draco wrinkled his nose, “You smell like sex,” he paused and buried his nose further into the tight spirals at her crown, “and expensive perfume.” 

Hermione snorted into his chest, the little sound escaping her nose before she could even think twice. “Well, I wasn’t in the courtrooms today, I’ll tell you that much.” 

Pulling back, Draco turned back to the stove and flipped the cheese toastie to the other side, a proud smirk on his lips for the simple fact that the bread bore a golden brown colour. He was still rather new to cooking and burned more than he cooked properly. “I’ll wager that it was a woman today - a loaded one judging by the smell of that perfume. Reminds me of my mother.” 

Hermione dug through a drawer in the kitchen, rifling through papers, thumbtacks, rolls of tape, and pens until she found a hair tie to twist her curls into a loose bun at the crown of her head, securing them up and away from her face with the tie. “You know I can’t disclose anything.” 

The cheese toastie landed on a colorful plate with another flip of the spatula and the blond began assembling a second, the first clearly meant for Hermione. “I’m not entirely sure I would want the details, anyway,” he shrugged, passing her the plate, steam rising from the savory treat. 

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the plate and inhaling the comforting aroma, memories of her childhood briefly flickering behind her eyelids. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you at my flat? I thought we weren’t meeting until Thursday?” She blew a current of air across the toastie, willing it to cool. Truth be told, she was starved. She’d been too distracted by the look of Pansy’s lips as they curved around each piece of fruit she hand fed her to even consider eating earlier. 

Draco dipped his knife in the butter and spread it across the bread, “I may or may not have run out of cheese at my place.” 

“You live within walking distance of a Tesco.” 

Two slices of cheese were placed between the buttered pieces of bread before the entire sandwich was dropped into the pan, sizzling as the butter began to melt and toast the bread. “I may have also been out of bread… and butter.” 

“And you knew I would have them?” 

Draco crossed the short space and rested his palms against the counter, trapping Hermione between his arms with a smirk. “You always have them.” 

“What would you have done if I’d been out?” Hermione’s eyes drifted from her own, cooling toastie to Draco’s eyes, the tiny ring of silver surrounding the black pupil giving way to his true intentions.

His eyes bore into hers as he leaned forward, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth. “There’s some perfectly acceptable left-over pizza in your fridge.” 

“I was going to have that for dinner.” Her nose brushed against his as she turned towards him, feeling the soft puffs of his breath as he drew her even closer. 

“I have a better plan,” he said, lifting one hand to thread into her curls, loosening them from the tie so they tumbled back down over her shoulders, and pulled her face a fraction of an inch closer until their lips met, pillowing against each other, in a soft, sweet kiss.

It was reminiscent of what a husband might give a wife when they were reunited at the end of the day, filled with love and a soft, careful sensuality that threatened to break her in two if she thought on it too much. 

Rationally, Hermone knew that Draco was nothing more than a good friend and a casual fuck. Sure, there were feelings there that she’d never allowed herself to explore, and she suspected the same on his end, but knowing that he was due to be married in a few months firmly stopped them from ever exploring more than playful flirting and some pretty wonderful tumbles in her bed. 

She wasn’t normally one to take up with someone she knew was unavailable, unless it was due to her second job, but they’d fallen into bed after a drunken night celebrating a legal victory for him. To be fair, he did tell her about his marriage contract the next morning over pancakes. 

Even if it wasn’t for the binding confidentiality spell that forbade him to speak his betrothed’s name until the formal announcements were made (something about ancient pureblood protections and rituals), she wouldn’t have wanted to know the name of the witch she was slighting, anyway. 

There was no way he could get out of it - she’d reviewed the contract - with names and all identifying information redacted - and it was airtight. Drafted when he and his intended were children, Draco had known about it the majority of his life and while he enjoyed her company now, and had done so for many months, he intended to be a faithful husband once the knot was tied, so to speak. 

Their time together was short - another heartbreak on the horizon, if she thought about it too hard. So she didn’t. 

One of Hermione’s hands snaked around Draco’s waist and pressed against his lower back, drawing his hips to rest against her stomach, the hardness contained in his trousers evident as he parted her lips with his tongue. She allowed him take the lead, something she almost never let anyone do, and he lifted her up onto the counter as he kissed her breathless. 

When she pulled back, her nose wrinkling and brow furrowing, his lips pressed a trail across her jaw and down her neck. 

“Draco…” she called quietly, holding her plate off to the side as she attempted to gently nudge him back with her other hand.

“Mmm?” he mumbled, lips caressing her pulse point. 

“Your toastie is burning.” 

He didn’t move and instead, he pulled her closer, ignoring her nudges, and nipped at the juncture of her shoulder and neck, pushing the white fabric of her shirt aside with his nose. 

“I’d really rather we didn’t catch my flat on fire.” 

“Shhh…” he mumbled against her shoulder. “You’re a witch, you can conjure water from your wand.” 

Hermione frowned and nudged him harder once more, finally putting a few centimeters between them. While he was an affectionate person, always touching her or kissing her when he was over - even if they were fully clothed, he usually respected her requests to slow down and back off. 

“My wand is in the other room.”

She didn’t miss the disappointment in his eyes as he pulled back and turned around, flicking the stove off and discarding the burned toastie to the trash with a quick levitation spell. Hermione set her plate down on the counter as she carefully watched the man perform the seemingly simple action noting how his shoulders were slightly hunched and his eyes were downcast. 

Something was wrong. 

Taking a few steps forward, Hermione pressed her palm along the curve of his spine before molding her body against his back as it slid upwards to rest against his shoulder. “We have all the time in the world for that, Draco.” Her fingertips slipped around his waist and over the expensive fabric of his shirt until she was hugging him from behind. 

She breathed in the scent of him as his body heaved with a sigh. He leaned against the counter in front of him, palms pressed into the edges of the granite, his gray eyes trained on the floor. “But we don’t, do we?” 

“What happened?” she whispered.

Hermione felt his weight shift, her arms staying put at his waist and shoulder as he turned to pull her against his chest. He buried his nose in the thick, dark curls at the crown of her head and released a long exhale, fingers playing along her spine with a tenderness that her heart ached for but one she so rarely received. Their couplings were usually fast and furious, between the end of her day in the courtrooms and the start of his at the hospital - there simply wasn’t time for  _ lovemaking _ . 

“We’re announcing within the month.” 

The constriction in her chest was painful as she fought against her long-buried feelings. “So soon?” 

He nodded and his arms tightened around her. “Yeah.” Any other words he might have said turned to ashes upon his tongue. 

“At least then I guess I’ll know her name,” she teased, forcing a smile to her lips.

Draco’s chest heaved with laughter, “You’re shite at silver linings.” 

“At least I can stop calling her your mystery heiress.” 

That title had come on pretty early on in their definitely-not-a-relationship. She had her clients and he had his mystery heiress which was likely someone she knew from school. That was the kicker - she’d become friends with several of the Slytherins in their year, especially after Harry and Theodore were caught by Astoria and Ginny hooking up in a coat closet, and it was very likely she considered his fiancee a friend, or at the very least, an acquaintance. 

Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to puzzle it out.

She knew he cared for the witch and sometimes it was a wonder he sought comfort in her bed at all - but he did, at least two nights a week. Other nights, he just came over for food and so he didn’t have to be alone in his flat. Living on his own, even after several years of having his own flat without house-elves, was still difficult for the blond wizard and to be honest, Hermione enjoyed his company. 

It was so easy with him. She didn’t have to worry about being anyone other than herself because they shared no secrets between them - other than the names of her clients and his heiress.

He still needed to be taken care of a bit and taking care of people’s needs was something Hermione excelled at. Between the end of the war, when she’d been away from Harry and Ron and off at muggle college, and before she began actively working as a dominatrix, she’d felt so lost. 

“She’ll likely be pleased once we’re no longer bound by the confidentiality spell. I wager it is difficult to plan a wedding when you’re not allowed to discuss your future spouse.” 

Hermione nuzzled her cheek against his chest, “I wouldn’t know.” 

Draco shook his head, clearing his mind. “That’s enough of that. You owe me a toastie.” 

“Excuse me?” Eyebrow raised, she popped her head up from his chest. “You’re the one who burned it.” 

He shrugged his shoulders and reached behind her, snatching her sandwich from the plate and taking a bit. “I”ll just eat this one, shall I?” 

It was a paltry attempt, but she tried to grab it and he just held it high over her head. Stupid, tall blonds and their ridiculously long arms. “You can’t just go back on your toastie-giving, Draco.” 

Their playful banter was interrupted by a punctuated rap on the window to Hermione’s flat. She untangled herself from Draco’s arms, doing her best not to smile when she caught sight of the grin on his face and the crumbs of the buttery toast around his lips. The owl flew in when she opened the window and landed on a perch. She quickly untied the missive from the creature’s leg, and fed it a few owl treats before it was on its way. 

Hermione unrolled the scroll, biting her bottom lip as she read through each carefully penned word. 

“What’s that?” Draco asked, wandering towards her, half-eaten toastie in hand. 

“It’s from a client,” she said, waving her hand dismissively, though her eyes were a bit glazed and her chest was rising and falling a bit faster with each quick breath. 

When he tried to peer over her shoulder, the parchment appeared blank. “I hate your confidentiality spells,” he muttered, brushing her loose curls back from her shoulder and planting his lips against her neck. 

“They’re necessary.” 

“Is it from the one who smells like my mother?” 

Hermione nodded, carefully rolling the scroll, her posture rigid. 

“Did they say something that upset you?” he asked as he rested his chin in the dip of her shoulder, holding the half-eaten toastie close to her mouth.

“The client wants to schedule another session,” she said, taking a bite of the sandwich and chewing thoughtfully. 

“And that’s a problem because…?” Draco asked, his words trailing off. 

Hermione drew in a breath and released it on a slow exhale. She leaned back into Draco, dropping her head against his chest. “I’m not entirely sure I should accept.”

His head turned, “Did she hurt you?” he asked, tone laced with concern.

“No, of course not. Nothing like that. I just…” she struggled to find the words. All of her feelings for Pansy swirled around her head, mixing and mingling with those she felt for Draco. Two impossible situations. Two people she absolutely, could not, allow herself to become attached to - and yet, she already had. 

Draco didn’t let her remain in her own head for too long. “You like this one,” he said, simply. 

Good heavens if her cheeks didn’t flush at someone actually saying it out loud. “A bit, yeah,” she admitted. “It was perfect, Draco. I couldn’t have asked for a better session,” she said, the words tumbling from her lips in a rush of sound. 

She could feel the smirk on his lips as the hand not holding the mostly eaten sandwich snaked down from her waist to cup her sex through her trousers. “You didn’t get off, did you?” 

“I never do, you know that.” 

He stuffed the rest of the toastie in his mouth and brushed the crumbs from his hand off on his trousers, chewing and swallowing quickly. “Then let me take care of you, little witch.” 

His fingers rubbed soft circles through her trousers and she couldn’t do anything but push her hips back against them. “Draco…” 

“Nope. I want the sound of you screaming my name ringing in my ears when I floo into work.” 


	5. Mutual Pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super pleased with this chapter, but I can't fiddle with it anymore. Alpha love to cecemarty and ThorneandRose. <3 
> 
> Trigger warning: consensual non-consensual scene later in the chapter between Hermione and a client (not Pansy).

When Hermione escorted Pansy to the floo following their session, Pansy felt like she was in a daze. The world seemed hazy, her body felt numb, and all she knew was that she didn’t want to leave. To stay wrapped up in the protective embrace of someone she knew would put her back together again each and every time her limits were tested, breaking the mould in which she’d been raised, was something Pansy desperately wanted.

It was something she craved. 

And that, in and of itself, was terrifying. 

She felt as comfortable on the sofa with Hermione in the transfigured conference room as she had lounging in her four-poster with Draco, eating muggle popcorn, and reading magazines while he watched something on the telly. 

She hadn’t expected there to be feelings. Sensations yes, but not emotions tied to what she was feeling. And that, quite possibly, was the hardest thing to cope with. 

The ache in her knees from kneeling was beginning to fade and her bum, while sore, no longer burned with the fire of Hermione’s handprints or the flogger. The colour had faded to a dull, peachy-pink and was too close to her own skin color for Pansy’s liking. 

She loved Draco; Merlin knew she did, but he couldn’t help her with any of that after everything he’d been forced to do and had witnessed during the war. He couldn’t be  _ that  _ person for her and she knew he would never be able to. They’d talked about it. Discussed it in depth even, and while he was perfectly happy to boss her around a bit and grip her hair while he fucked her, he would never be able to give to her the right sort of pleasure-pain nor the satisfaction of offering submission to someone who knew exactly what to do with such a gift. 

That desire to sit at someone else’s feet, knowing they would break you down and build you back up again if you placed yourself in their hands, was overwhelming. 

Feeling complete and sated for the first time in years was something new. She could have easily stayed on that sofa for hours, curled up in Hermione’s lap discussing inane things like current events, the next charity event they would both be attending, and how Miss Fawley’s hats matched her lip colour. 

It was perfect. 

Almost.

For one, Hermione wasn’t Draco. Their engagement was certainly not at the forefront of Pansy’s mind when she’d instructed her liaison at Gringotts to transfer the tidy sum into Hermione’s vaults for the service. For another, Hermione was barely an acquaintance—omeone Pansy saw a handful of times each year at this gala or that charity event with only a few polite words exchanged. 

They’d never even had brunch or spent time together outside of the strict protocols of high society.

But, it was Hermione who’d put Pansy on her knees. 

It was Hermione who forced her to crawl across the floor, spanked her arse until it burned, and gave her one of the best orgasms of her life. 

It was Hermione who kissed her hairline like she was the most precious thing in the entire world while feeding her bits of fruit by hand. While Draco was affectionate and held her close any time she crawled into his lap, there was something so intimate about what had occurred after everything she had done with Hermione. 

Somehow, it made everything come full circle. 

Even so, Pansy had left Hermione’s office with less clarity and more confusion than she anticipated. How many times had she told herself that this would be a solitary occurrence? 

When she stepped out of the floo and into her own home, the taste of strawberries still on her tongue, Pansy stripped all of her clothing off, leaving it haphazardly on the floor as she made her way to her bedroom. As she stood in front of the ornate, gilded mirror, she cataloged every bruise and mark the witch had left on her body before they faded to nothing by morning. 

There was something so fundamentally wrong about never seeing those marks again. 

Attempting to shake off the air of melancholy clouding her mind, Pansy wrapped a silk robe around her nude body and set the tap on the bath to run. Warm water and iridescent lavender-colored bubbles poured from the magical tap, quickly filling the marble bath. Her fingers traced through the water as she sat on the side, mind whirling with the possibilities.

She and Draco were due to announce their engagement within the month and then they would finally be free of the pesky confidentiality spell their parents had worked into the contract. Theoretically, she could keep seeing Hermione up until that point. Or, perhaps she could beg Draco to allow her to keep this one thing even when they married. 

No, she couldn’t ask that of him. It was foolish to even think it.

When she finally sunk into the tub, Pansy was no closer to finding an answer that wouldn’t leave her wanting.

Later, even though she knew he wouldn’t be home for hours, Pansy stepped out of the floo and into Draco’s flat, the handles of her overnight bag grasped between her fingers. She made her way to his bedroom and quickly unpacked her things. With a flick of her wand, her clothing was neatly arranged in the closet and her underthings were tucked into a drawer of his dresser. 

She lifted his robe from the hook behind the door and shrouded herself in the soft cologne-scented flannel before she padded on bare feet to the small study. The dark, richly paneled room always reminded her of her childhood home and hours spent in the study of her father playing dolls or reading fairy tales while he worked. 

She poured herself a bit of brandy and slipped behind his desk, tucking her feet beneath her in the large, leather office chair. Smoothing her hands over the ancient wood, Pansy drew a deep breath before grasping a quill and a bit of parchment. 

For what seemed like hours, Pansy had agonized over what to do. She shouldn’t want to go back. It should’ve been a one and done and then she could move on and live her life as Mrs. Draco Malfoy. 

But it wasn’t and she couldn’t. 

And she needed more. 

She pressed the quill to the parchment, heart fluttering in her chest as she penned each word. Each letter brought a new resolve and a new sense of anticipation. Longing for what she’d shared with Hermione crept through her body until she signed her name and sent the letter off with her owl. 

> _ Miss Granger, _
> 
> _ Just once wasn’t enough. I’d like to schedule another session, if you’re agreeable.  _
> 
> _ Yours,  _
> 
> _ Pansy Parkinson _

It was only later, when Draco wrapped his body around her in the early hours of the morning and kissed her sweetly on the lips that she felt a wave of guilt wash over her. 

……….

Hermione’s mind was whirling and she was due in court in an hour. If she couldn’t pull herself together, she risked disappointing her client by failing to present her argument properly and that was unacceptable. She’d never been one to let her personal life interfere with her professional life and now they were beginning to bleed together and it was getting to be too much.

She’d barely been able to think straight after her session with Pansy and when the letter had floated into her hands hours later asking for another session, she couldn’t put a name to the emotions she felt. And of course, Draco had dropped the bomb that he and his fiancee were announcing which made his impending nuptials seem much closer, and Merlin forbid she label what she felt for him too.

Hermione felt everything too much and simultaneously, not enough. 

It was maddening. 

After cancelling her non-legal clients for the next two days, much to the dismay of Ms. Fawley who rather enjoyed seeing some of society’s elite cross through the threshold of Hermione’s office, she floo’d herself right to Harry and Theo’s for a much needed evening of wine, pudding, and bad television. 

_ “Is there a reason you’re wearing holes in the heirloom rug, Hermione?” Theo asked as he watched her pace back and forth, turning on her heel each time she came to one edge of the carpet and beginning the stride over again.  _

_ Holding the straw of one of Teddy’s juice boxes to his lips, he smirked at her. “It’s about Parkinson, isn’t it.”  _

_ She came to a halt in the middle of the rug and turned her head to narrow her eyes at Theo. “Confidentiality contract, Theodore.”  _

_ “You sound like my mum.” Theo grinned and pulled a horrible sound from the juicebox as he drained it of juice.  _

_ “I happen to like Emmeline, thank you very much,” she groused before resuming her pacing. Her hands knotted together and she pulled at her fingers, mind whirling. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”  _

_ Theo rolled his eyes and watched her pace.  _

_ “There’s no harm in pursuing someone you like, Granger.” Theo crushed the juice box in his first before tossing it into the air and vanishing it with a flick of his wand.  _

_ Her thumb and middle finger pinched the bridge of her nose as a rush of air escaped her lungs in a heavy sigh. When had her life become so complicated? It certainly didn’t feel this complicated six months ago when she just pined over Pansy from afar while taking Draco to bed. “I just… It’s not that simple.”  _

_ “It’s exactly that simple.”  _

_ With a groan, she collapsed into the wingback nearest the fireplace, pulling her legs over the heavily embroidered fabric to tuck her feet beneath her. “You’re not helping, Theo.”  _

_ “I’m just telling you what you don’t want to hear.” Theo stretched out over the couch and twirled his wand between his fingers.  _

_ She felt like a petulant child when she whined, “It’s complicated.” But it was the truth. She didn’t know how to tease out the tangle she’d managed to wrap around herself and still remain unbroken. She could refuse Pansy and end things with Draco but how long would it take for her to bounce back from that measure of heartbreak? Could her heart even break if she didn’t have what she let go in the first place?  _

_ “Love always is.”  _

_ Hermione tossed a pillow at Theo which he easily deflected. “I’m not in love with them, you nitwit.” Saying the words even felt wrong. It was too soon and neither of them were hers and she was completely and utterly fucked.  _

_ Theo just grinned and hurled a pillow back at her. “You’re a shite liar, Hermione Jean.”  _

_ The palms of her hands dragged over her face until they threaded into her curls and she groaned in disgust with herself. “What would you do?”  _

_ Theo smiled and shrugged his shoulders, tucking his hands back behind his head. “Easy. I’d keep them both for myself. But then again, I’m a selfish bastard and Harry knows it.”  _

_ Hermione snorted a laugh. Leave it to Theo to at least make her feel better, even if his advice was completely unrealistic. _

It wasn’t that Hermione necessarily disliked Zacharias Smith, it was that she wasn’t particularly in the mood for what he needed and yet he was striding down the hallway like the cat who got the cream. Thoughts of Pansy and Draco and what to do about her clusterfuck of a life had been swirling in her mind all morning, and now one of her best-paying clients was mere meters away. Hermione pushed her thoughts about what to do about Pansy and Draco to the back of her mind and allowed a winning smile to slide across her lips as her former classmate approached. 

_ Not today. Heavens, please not today. _

“Ah, the lovely Ms. Granger.” He grinned at her and held his left hand out which she took with her right. His thumb traced the back of her hand before he brought it up to his lips. 

Their signal. 

_ Shit.  _

She could say no. She wasn’t exactly in the mood for the type of play he needed and it would be easy to give him her safeword, but she wasn’t in a place where it was unsafe for her to engage with him. She knew she was being unreasonable, pining over two people she clearly couldn’t have. She’d yet to respond to Pansy’s letter, which had come a few days before and she wasn’t even certain she should, no matter how much her fingers itched to have the lovely witch under her control again. And Draco. No matter how much she lo— _ adored  _ the snarky git, he was getting married soon and they needed to call off whatever they had anyway. 

What was the saying? Lie back and think of England? 

Honestly, she could use the distraction and Zacharias always made for a good one. What he needed required complete concentration. That was it then.

“Mr. Smith, might I steal a moment of your time?” She turned and cocked her head toward the door to her right, his name emblazoned on the door in gold lettering. She’d been in this office more times than she could count for both legal matters and to assist him with some of his darker desires.

When the door was closed, Hermione quickly erected silencing charms and locked the door with a few flicks of her wand while her client settled himself behind his desk. 

“Safe word?” she asked before erecting the final ward on his office door with a flourish. It should guarantee at least twenty minutes of no interruptions. 

“Banoffee.” His voice was quiet and when Hermione turned around, his fingers were fiddling with the blue silk tie wrapped around his neck. 

Hermione shrugged off her blazer, leaving her in a soft blouse and trousers, and tugged the pins from her hair so it tumbled over her shoulders. “Releasing every…” 

“Five minutes.” 

That’s why he was nervous. They’d never gone that long before. 

“My, my, my…” Hermione crooned, leveling her wand towards Zacharias, “It goes up every time I see you. Soon, you’ll be under my complete control for as long as I’d like.” She laughed, a high tinkling sound with a dark undercurrent, “Of course, I could have you that way any time I like, now couldn’t I?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” He still wasn’t looking at her, but he was fidgeting too much―body restless, hands moving, eyes flicking over his desk. 

Best to start out slow. 

“ _ Imperio _ .” 

As his eyes glazed over and he sat before her staring blankly into space, Hermione cast a charm in the air with bright green numbers counting down from five minutes. 

“Stand up, pet.” He stood while Hermione shifted several trinkets and papers aside to perch herself on his desk.

“Trousers down.” She crossed her leg as he unbuckled his belt and pushed his wool trousers down to his ankles, revealing a scrap of blue lace that barely covered his half-hard cock. 

“Well, well, well. I see you’ve been following instructions.” Hermione forced the pleased smile to remain on her lips as she threaded her fingers beneath the lace and over the soft skin of his hip, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking how much prettier Pansy would look in blue lace with her backside all pink and a gag in her mouth. 

Drawing herself away from such thoughts, she glanced at the timer and then back of her client, watching his face carefully for any subtle tells that she needed to release him early. He was fighting the spell, as he always did, but she held on. Delicate fingers wrapped around his cock and she drew it up from the lace until it popped free. With the lightest pressure, she pulled the tips of her fingers over him, pinching his foreskin and tugging outwards just slightly until his hips canted forward. 

“Such a good boy. Letting me do anything and everything I’d like… Of course, you’ve no choice. I could do absolutely anything I’d like and you couldn’t stop me.” 

She tightened her hold on the spell when he fought harder to break it. She never held him too tight that he couldn’t break through if absolutely needed, but he rather enjoyed being held in thrall by a powerful woman.

“You’ll never break through, darling,” she cooed as she slipped further into this particular persona. “Sit down, pet.”

He sat down, one hand reaching to grasp his cock with what little control she allowed him over his own body and she tightened the hold on the spell until his hand flew to the armrest with a silent command. “I don’t think so.” 

She plucked a quill from the stand on his desk and dipped it into the inkwell, taking another glance at the timer. His body tensed when she brushed the feathers over his length, taking special care to draw them slowly over the underside and through the precum gathering at the tip until the feathers were sticky and clinging together. 

“Every time you write with this quill, you’ll think of me, won’t you?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” The response was automatic and his voice was monotone. She’d given him no instructions to act as he otherwise would and there was something about the impartial quality that made this particular scene easier for Hermione. 

Perhaps she had needed it as much as he had. 

When he’d first broached the subject of being put under the Imperius and forced to do sexual acts, Hermione had adamantly refused. After engaging with him as a client for over a year, she could clearly see that simply commanding him, without the added curse which stripped him of his autonomy, did little for his pleasure after a while. And so, under strict stipulations, a legal waiver, and several other documents outlining their respective roles and responsibilities, she placed him under and the orgasm he’d had at the end of their first session nearly rendered him catatonic with pleasure. Putting him under was not something she particularly enjoyed, but it was fulfilling his needs and in that, she found satisfaction. 

The nib of the quill pressed against his length and she slowly drew her initials in the dark ink, taking care with each stroke and loop to draw out the sensation. “Whose cock is this?” 

“Yours.” 

“Who does your pleasure belong to?” 

“You, Mistress.” 

The flash of the timer in the air caught Hermione’s eye and she released the spell. Her sultry facade faded away and she looked into Zacharias’ brown eyes with care and concern, fingertips brushing his blond hair from his face with a gentle touch. “Are you alright? Do we need to stop or slow down?” 

He shook his head, leaning into her touch as his body adjusted to being under its own control once more. “More, please.” 

She nodded, withdrawing her hand from his face and leveling her wand at him once more. “Releasing in…?” 

“Three minutes.” 

“ _ Imperio.”  _

_ ………. _

Cereal. 

Suddenly, Hermione was desperate for cereal and rummaging around in the pantry was proving ineffective. She had a strong suspicion that Draco hid her favorite sugary cereal with the marshmallows because he deemed it unhealthy and if she really wanted the damned cereal, she would have to hunt for it. 

Opening and closing all of the cabinets in her kitchen had already proven a waste of time and it was certainly not up on top of the refrigerator. A summoning spell didn’t help because, of course, he’d bewitched it to stay put.  _ Prat. _ She finally made her way to the small study in her home and began opening and closing cabinet doors in there. 

She huffed in frustration. 

She just wanted a damned bowl of cereal. Next time she saw the blonde git she was going to tease the hell of him and make him wait for it. Threatening to turn him over her knee would only make him irritable and it wasn’t worth the trouble for either of them. She knew his hang-ups from the war and she wasn’t about to exploit them, but she certainly wasn’t above a bit of good-natured edging. 

Opening and closing the drawers in her desk, she finally found the red box buried under a few blank files and boxes of quill nibs. 

“Aha!” She pulled it out with a triumphant smirk, setting it down on the desk to close the drawer. When she lifted it up again, ready to retreat back into the kitchen to fix her bowl, Hermione frowned as she noticed the letter from Pansy sitting on her desk. 

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she fiddled with the flap on the top of the cereal box, flicking it back and forth as she stared and the lovely script on the parchment. 

Before she could talk herself out of it, Hermione discarded the box of cereal to the side and penned a reply, sending it off through the floo for one of the anonymous office owls to deliver. 

Once more couldn’t hurt. 

  
  



End file.
